Page 2 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“Dinnae play dumb.” The man scoffed, his breath hot and foul in her face. “Did ye think some old clothes an’ company would hide who ye are…Lady Lydia Wycliffe?”
He spat her name, his expression turning thunderous as he seized her chin in a bruising grip. “Months we’ve been searchin’ fer ye, an’ yer uncle’s about ready tae put a bounty on yer head, he’s tha’ enraged. Didnae think ye’d be so daft as tae try an’ pretend tae be a commoner, but when we heard otherwise…”
From who?
Lydia tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. In desperation, she attempted a move she’d seen one of the scullery maids use once on a guard of her father’s castle who tried to take advantage of her. She jerked her knee upward, as hard and fast as she could.
Her knee connected. The man let out a pained yowl and let go of her to clutch his groin. Lydia staggered backward, but before she could take proper advantage of her freedom, another set of hands seized her from behind. “We’ll nae be havin’ any more o’ that now, lass.”
Lydia felt her stomach roil. She hadn’t even heard the second man arrive, and now…she tried to pull away, but she might as well have tried to break iron shackles with her bare hands.
The first man was regaining his composure, his expression filled with murderous fury, when cracking branches caught all their attention. A second later, another horse crashed into the small space, and a man rolled smoothly out of the saddle and dropped lightly to the ground on the balls of his feet. “What’s the meanin’ o’ all this?”
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short, windswept blond hair, but most importantly to Lydia, he wasnotwearing the colors of Clan Cameron.
He raked the three of them with intense green eyes, his jaw clenching briefly before he addressed the man holding her. “I dinnae tolerate attacks on me lands, an’ yer nae welcome here any longer. Get ye gone.”
Both men stared at the stranger and Lydia half-hoped they would release her to fight with him. However, after a moment, the first man who’d grabbed her glanced at his partner and shook his head, before turning back to the stranger.
“Aye. We’re going.” The man behind her pulled Lydia’s arm to drag her with him. Lydia fought back, digging her heels into the dirt and straining to grasp anything she could. There was nothing within her reach, but she made the effort nonetheless.
“Hold a moment.” The stranger stepped forward, watching her with his stern gaze. “Lass, dae ye ken these men?”
“No. They attacked my caravan… they’re trying to kidnap me!” Lydia punctuated her words with another tug on her trapped arm. “I…”
The man’s eyes widened, and Lydia realized a moment later that she’d spoken with an English accent - she hadn’t thought to even attempt to disguise her voice as she usually did. For a moment, her heart sank, fearing the man would turn away. Many Highlanders had no love of the English, after all.
Instead, he turned to face the first man once again. “Ye heard the lass. She daesnae ken ye, an’ from the look o’ it, she daesnae want tae go with ye.”
“’Tis nae any o’ yer concern.” The first man put a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“It wouldnae be if ye hadnae attacked her companions on me land.” The man’s hand dropped to the hilt of the blade he carried, and his voice deepened from the rough baritone he’d used to address her to a threatening, low-voiced growl. “But ye did attack her on me lands, an’ now I’m tellin’ ye - leave the lass an’ get out o’ me territory, or I’ll leave yer corpses here fer the crows tae feast on.”
The man holding Lydia abruptly shoved her, sending her crashing to the ground. Lydia choked back a cry, the breathdriven from her as something hard - a half-buried rock or a large tree branch, she thought - slammed into her lower ribs.
Coughing, she tried to crawl away, or to rise and flee, but the effort sent sparks of pain radiating from her bruised hands and her injured side. All she could do, as the first clash of steel rang through the air, was roll awkwardly into the shadows of a large tree, curl herself tightly under her cloak, and pray to survive unscathed - and unnoticed.
CHAPTER TWO
The sounds of fighting - the clang of steel on steel, the grunts and curses of the fighters, seemed to go on forever. Lydia remained curled where she was, fighting to get her breath back and assessing her condition. Her cloak was torn where the man had jerked on her collar, and the lightweight cap she’d used to confine her hair - at Elswith’s insistence - was gone. She was also covered in mud and leaves. Her hair had come loose from her braids and it spilled around her face, trailing in the mud. Her hands were near black, dirt caked under her nails - where the nails hadn’t torn away in her struggles.
All of that was vexing enough, but the real problem was her side. The bruised area on her ribs throbbed with every breath, and attempting to move made stars flash in her vision, and tears burn in her eyes. Breathing was an effort, and her whole body felt shaky and weak from the pain. She could scarcely manage to remain aware, let alone stand and try to escape.
She heard the continuing clash of blades, then a shout, a meaty ‘thwack’ and a sickly sort of moan that made her squeeze her eyes closed, even as her stomach lurched. Another brief period of screeching steel and grunting followed, then an indecipherable snarl and the thud of something heavy hitting the dirt. She waited for the sounds of battle to resume, but the forest remained silent.
Finally, she could bear the silence no longer. With an effort, she rolled over, biting her lip to hold back a cry as the movement intensified the pain in her wounded side. With great effort, she managed to push herself into a half-sitting position so she could see what had happened.
The stranger who had rescued her was crouching over one of the two men who’d tried to take her. After a moment, he grunted, his expression disgruntled, and hauled the man up by the collar. He dragged him to one side of the clearing and dumped him beside a tree. “Stay there, an’ hope yer comrades find ye afore any wolves dae.”
The man groaned, and the stranger scoffed at him, before rising again. He prodded the second man with the tip of his sword, but the figure remained motionless, and Lydia had a sinking feeling that he would never move again. With a huff, he wiped his blade on the man’s clothing, sheathed it, and stalked over to where Lydia still lay awkwardly in the foliage.
Lydia watched him approach with a feeling of trepidation. He had rescued her, true, but she had no idea how she was expected to respond - nor if he was someone she could consider friend orfoe. He might have only saved her so he could have his own way with her - she had heard tales of such things happening.
The part of her mind that was still able to think beyond the confusing mingling of relief and fear noted that he was taller than she’d originally noticed, and well-muscled, his broad shoulders moving easily beneath the leather of his jerkin and the fabric of his cloak. His legs were encased in leggings for riding, but they appeared to be equally muscular.
His face below his windswept blond hair was not that old, but the lines of it were harsh, and there were shadows that darkened the green eyes and suggested that his life had not been an easy one. His jaw was square, his mouth tight and brooding, and there was a small scar on his chin, faded as if from some childhood accident.
He was handsome, in a rough, rugged, and somewhat barbaric way. He was certainly good-looking enough to make her heart skip a beat, had it not already been pounding in the aftermath of her near abduction by Clan Cameron. Handsome and mesmerizing, with his fluid, easy movements and his deep, intense gaze.
